


A Gift

by Veeebles



Category: Taboo (TV 2017)
Genre: Africa, Consensual, Dreams, F/M, Half sister, How he learned his gift, James misses Zilpha, Tribe - Freeform, half brother, themes, twi language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-28 00:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veeebles/pseuds/Veeebles
Summary: His eyes opened and he was no longer in that cave. He was in a forest, all the leaves were white as snow, the soil on the ground black like her hair. He was naked still, the soil beneath his feet soft and wet. This place was cool and he did not sweat, did not feel that awful heat from the fire.She was dancing in the clearing, laughing and singing Kwame’s chant. Her hair glinted in the light, she was naked too.Desire coursed through him hot and real, the sight of her after so long aching. She smiled at him when she saw him closer, beckoned him to her.“Bra ha”





	A Gift

**Author's Note:**

> A look into James' time in Africa, specifically how he was taught to use his "gift"

**_“I thought I was mad. But they taught me to use it: now it's a gift”_ **

 

 

He had never understood it; his ability to dream walk.

That was the only name he had for it.

It all started after the ship sank and he was sure he was dead.

They came to him then, all people of all walks of life, unionized by their deaths. They sang to him from the water, from the ground, they came to him like moths drawn to a flame. Some he knew, most he didn’t.

Sometimes their songs were sweet, like the soft lullabies mothers sang to their babes. Other times they were like the screams of banshees, tearing through his skull until he felt his ears would bleed and he screamed with them.

Sometimes he heard his father’s voice, calling to him across the oceans. Sometimes it was his mother’s, singing in the language of her people. More recently, it was Zilpha, calling out his name.

That was why he was here now, sitting cross legged in the small cave Kwame; medicine man and his friend, called home. He had been here almost a year now, Kwame had pulled him from the water, breathed into his lungs and took him in. He nursed him back to health and brought him into the African society. He understood the demons in James’ head.

He taught him that there was our world; the world of the living, and there was their world; the world of the dead. He could see through both veils between because he had been there before. He had died on that ship, had been caught in sail and flag, dragged under until his lungs filled with water and his heart stopped beating. By some luck or some unknown entity,  he had been permitted him to live and he breathed again.

James knew he was dead, that was how he could see.

He sat cross legged and naked across from Kwame who was bare also. The small cave smelled of earth and smoke. Animal skins and woven blankets were strewn across the floor, the fire pit in the middle of the room was lower, the flames a small dance which crackled and popped every so often, smoke rising and filling the space until James felt dizzy with it.

Kwame met his gaze over the dancing flames, “you do as I do. You no not ask question, you do not move and you do not leave, understand?”

James nodded his consent, fists clenching in apprehension at his sides. He had partaken in many tribal rituals, from war dances to worshiping the rising sun to the blessing of the chief’s daughter on her wedding day. This, however, was different. This was intimate, intense, the ritual would take place in his head, his dreams. He would be required to give himself over completely, entering that realm which flitted between dream and reality and there was a danger he would not return.

Kwame dipped his hand into one of the many clay pots laid out before him, fisting it in powder as red as blood. He had explained each one to James, setting identical pots before him on his side of the fire. He knew what they were, he had helped gather and grind them to their fine powder, but their purpose was as yet a mystery. He mimicked his friend’s actions, grasping the soft powder, squeezing it tight in his fist.

James watched Kwame’s hand rise, the fine powder sifting through the cracks in his fist like sand, the sound soft and calming like the roll and crash of waves on the beach at night. He followed suit, holding his hand out in front of him, the powder sifting slower and slower.

“Through this, you will go to her.”

James sat in silence, listening avidly. This was why he was doing this, he reminded himself. He wanted to see her, speak to her. He had never been gone so long from her before and she seemed like an apparition to him now. His heart twisted at the thought of her, how he left her. She appeared more and more in his dreams until he was screaming her name, clawing at his skin and waking in a cold sweat with her far from him. He needed to see her and she needed him. Even across the planes, so far from him he could feel her calling to him and he needed to answer.

“You see her in dream. You sing to her, she will come.”

“What does that mean?”

Kwame shook his head, “You will see.”

He threw the powder into the fire and James flinched as the flames surged and rose, turning the same red colour, a heady scent filling the room. Kwame nodded to him and he threw his powder in just as he had. The flames grew higher and the fire was so red James could not look away. Sweat broke out all over his body and he began to pant, breathing coming hard in the small, smokey place.

Kwame began to chant. It was low and James could only understand a few of the Twi words.

The sweat was dripping down his face like tears, pouring from his eyebrows, plastering his hair to his scalp. The heat was unbearable, he felt faint and wanted to get up, to run, to escape the cave into the night air of the African planes, find the river that ran to the sea and drown himself in it’s cool water.

He was failing before he had even begun.

Kwame was still chanting, a low and rhythmic sound that filled his senses and drowned the sound of the fire. He looked to him across the red flames, his eyelids drooping, his tongue heavy.

Kwame dipped his hands in the larger pot filled with white powder, nodding to James to do the same. James raised his heavy arms, almost knocking over the pot as he sank his fingers in to the powder. Kwame motioned for him to coat his palms and James mirrored him as he ran his hands down his face and neck, his dusky skin now smeared white, powder crumbling off to land in his lap, his sweat mixing with the stuff to form a paint that stained his skin. The powder tickled his eyelashes, flew up his nose when he breathed but he was too leaden limbed to do anything about it.

Kwame’s chanting hung in the air, sounding unetheral and alive. James swore he could hear drums, rhythmic and constant like the blood beating in his veins, throbbing in his ears.

Kwame lifted the Ulluchu fruit, one half in his hand, the other in James’. He bit into the soft, wet flesh and felt it’s sweetness fill his mouth. Its juice ran down his chin, down his chest and he spat into the flames when Kwame did, a fragrant smell filling the air.

Kwame chanted again, eyes fixed on the flames by James did not need his instructions anymore, he knew, somehow what to do.

He could see her there, dancing in the flames like a mirage, like the women of the tribe, like the gypsies, like his mother’s people. Her raven hair flowed around her as if in water, her dark eyes reflecting the red flames. Her olive skin glowed like she were a flame herself. Still she dances, her feet moving to the beat of the drums, her red lips moving to the noise of Kwame’s chanting.

“Zilpha.”

Suddenly she turned to him, eyes and mouth wide.

His body went limb, he fell back onto the blankets and furs behind him, his body was not his own, he had no need for it now.

His eyes opened and he was no longer in that cave. He was in a forest, all the leaves were white as snow, the soil on the ground black like her hair. He was naked still, the soil beneath his feet soft and wet. This place was cool and he did not sweat, did not feel that awful heat from the fire.

She was dancing in the clearing, laughing and singing Kwame’s chant. Her hair glinted in the light, she was naked too.

Desire coursed through him hot and real, the sight of her after so long aching. She smiled at him when she saw him closer, beckoned him to her.

_“Bra ha” come here_

She spoke to him in Twi, her voice like a whisper in the wind.

_“Bra ha.”_

He went to her, trembling when her fingers touching his skin, feeling real and not so real at the same time. Her hands traced the black ink on his skin, torturously slow. His hands found her hips and he revelled in her softness.

_“Zilpha.”_

She smiled and trailed her fingers through the pigment on his face, binging them to her own and painting her skin like his.

_“James, Wo wɔ hene?” James, where are you?_

His heart ached all the more at her soft words. She would have believed him dead if not for his breaking in. What must she think of him? To have left without a word, boarded a ship and to be sent news of it sinking.

_“Mafe wo” I miss you._

It was all he could offer her for now. She smiled and kissed him softly, he held her close, deepening the kiss, tasting the pigment on her lips, his hands dragging across her soft skin, feeling he small body. She was just as he remembered, he knew he body better than his own. He knew her soft sighs and breathy moans, he had heard them enough to never forget.

The kiss deepened, the drums and chanting echoed in the distance, their gasps and moans joining them. Her fingers ran through his hair, nails scraping his scalp, he felt himself rising against her belly and she tasted his mouth.

_“Ɛkɔm de me” I am hungry._

She laughs into his mouth and reached between them to stroke him. He bucks into the feeling, gasping and moaning against her neck, losing himself fast after being without her for so long.

He hardened in her touch until he was dripping with need and she kissed him hard.

_“Mehia wo.” I need you._

He laid her out on the soil, her skin like honey against its darkness. He laid her out like a goddess, her raven hair splayed around her. He could not wait, would not wait, he needed her now or he would surely go mad, madder than he was.

He pressed his body against her and slowly entered her heat. She sighed, throwing her head back and he kissed her exposed neck, sucking and marking her pretty skin so it was like his ink.

_“Ɛyɛ” yes._

The paint smeared across her throat and he kissed her chest, her breasts, moving in and out like a mad man, chasing the delicious pleasure he had dreamed of so long. She was equal to no other, she was the love of his life. Her moans, her touch, the drums, this place, he was dizzy with it all, his mind a haze, noises like echoes. She was warm and wet and tight around him. Her legs rubbed up and down his back, her arms holding him close Her mouth kissed him, breathed his name, chanted her love over and over until he was coming undone.

She trembled as she found her completion with him, his moan buried into her neck, her hair against his cheeks and he held her shaking body against his.

They stilled and the drums faded into a steady beat as if far away. He could no longer hear Kwame.

He held her lying in the soil, her fingers tracing his face, her legs tangled with his, her face looking up at him.

_“Medɔ wo” I love you._

She kissed him.

“Fa kyɛ me” forgive me.

Her eyes grew sad, the flames fading to embers. The leaves on the trees began to fade, the soil beneath them blurred.

He looked about in a panic, the dream ending as he heard her far away voice, speaking a prayer to god in an attempt to banish him.

“No.”

She faded in his arms like a fog, blowing away from him in the wind.

He dug around in the soil for her, screaming her name. The drums grew louder, the chanting returned, his body heated, sweat crashing down his body like a river. He opened his eyes and saw smoke.


End file.
